Because Villains are Villains
by Vixray
Summary: Electroshock therapy has long been an outdated method of treating homosexuality in the United Republic. How ironic it is, Amon muses as he slyly watches the lieutenant train with his electrified kali sticks \\ Oneshot
**Disclaimer: Disclaimed**

 **To Reader: I know I'm late to the fandom. I'm always late. But this point had to be made.**

* * *

Electroshock therapy has long been an outdated method of treating homosexuality in the United Republic. How ironic it is, Amon muses as he slyly watches the lieutenant train with his electrified kali sticks. The perspiration is making the man's moustache stick to his face at a comical angle, and Amon resists the desire to reach over and smooth it out for him. Besides, it isn't as if he wants to take the consequences of that action. Fighting for the equality of non-benders is enough for one lifetime.

Sometimes, though, in the quiet of the night, he thinks to himself that he would fight if he was still Noatak. But he's not anymore - that's the point, isn't it? Noatak died in a blizzard, and the Amon that was created from the icy glacier of hatred is just a shell as empty as his mask. Any affection, any _love_ , would simply leak through the holes of his blank eyes and ruined heart and be lost forever, unrequited.

The lieutenant comes to him in the soft hours of the morning and stands before his desk, his headgear clutched at his side.

"Where do you want me?" he asks.

 _Here. I want you here._ He wants to fight for him, fight for _them_ , but he's not Noatak, _dammit_. He's Amon. Cold, ruthless, equalizing Amon.

Noatak cares for the lieutenant. Amon uses him, rules him with his iron hand.

But the lieutenant looks so weary. His hair is peppered with grey, and there are deep creases around his mouth and eyes. His eyes look worn, his will fractured.

Solicitude gets the better of him. "There will be a rally tonight. Stay with me. We will go over the details."

They run through the plan. Amon will step out on stage, shadowed by six of his most trusted Equalists - the lieutenant will be one of them. Amon will tell his story, receive sympathy for losing his face and family to a firebender, and the four captured benders will be brought onto stage. And, one by one, Amon will use his unique (bloodbending) ability to strip them of their powers.

When they are finished speaking of the rally, the lieutenant takes off the mask of Amon, and they look at each other, faces bare, unable to hide the shreds of anticipation and fear. The lieutenant knows that Amon didn't lose his face to a firebender; he accepts it as a necessary part of the propaganda.

"We will succeed. You will succeed."

Amon nods, his jaw clenched. He hopes so.

The lieutenant smiles, reaching up to stroke the air below Amon's chin. "You will be fine. I-The city is going to be much better with you."

Amon doesn't know how the lieutenant does it, but with those simple words, his worries are wiped away. He wants more of the remedy, the warm confidence that is fading away quickly. He decides for a fleeting moment that he doesn't care about consequences and that he will fight if he damn well has to, and he leans down and kisses the lieutenant.

They don't touch except for their lips, and the kiss is short and barely sating and more bitter than sweet. The lieutenant pulls away first, and Amon can see that his eyes are in turmoil. He tries to speak; his lips quiver several times, and finally he just stares in shocked silence. And Amon is more scared than he has ever been in his life.

* * *

Amon leaves the rally with his nerves buzzing and the lieutenant at his side. They go to the latter's apartment, where they open a cheap bottle of _baijiu_ in semi-celebration.

"The Avatar will be back," Amon says, his tongue burning from the alcohol.

"Not anytime soon, though, I would think."

Amon looks at the lieutenant sprawled in the armchair, his limbs seemingly draped too carefully over the cushions and his upper lip faintly beaded with sweat. Something in him gives a jerk. He opens his mouth, and what come out is:

"You need to shave."

The lieutenant looks surprised. He fingers his drooping moustache lightly. "I suppose," he says. "I could go do it now."

"No. Don't." Amon pushes against his forehead, trying to quell the headache that is building in his skull. "I don't know what I'm saying. I think I'm drunk."

The lieutenant laughs, a little too loudly. "You know what they say."

"What?"

"You don't remember anything the next day after the night you're drunk."

Amon takes another swig from his glass, grimaces then smirks.

"Good," he says.

They move closer, inch by inch, until they are sitting with their thighs touching, and this time it's the lieutenant who brings their lips together. Amon utilizes him and works him, makes him sweat and bleed. Noatak falls in love with him.

Their clothes are removed piece by piece, seams breaking with a swish and a growl. They stumble to the bedroom, leaving a trail of shirts and trousers in their wake, and fall onto the bed. And suddenly Amon finds himself on top of the lieutenant, feeling the other man trembling beneath him.

"Do you trust me?" He has to make sure, because he needs some sort of clarity in this drunken madness, something he can look back to and believe he didn't destroy with his bending hands.

The answer is more certain than ever.

"I trust you with my life."

* * *

 _I love you, Amon._

When he wakes up in the morning, he can't believe the words are real. Then he lifts his head and sees that the lieutenant is beside him, curled into the curve of his side, and half-covered with the rumpled sheets. Last night was not a dream, and he remembers everything.

He groans, half in incredulity, half in pain.

The lieutenant's eyes flutter open, and they smile when they alight on Amon. He kisses him slowly, and it seems that there is no awkwardness in it for him.

"I'm yours," he says simply. "Where do you want me today?"

Amon could care less; the lieutenant has always been his. Noatak wants to hear his name on his lover's lips.

So he murmurs, "I love you," to see how his lieutenant will respond.

His smile grows wider. He has never been more beautiful. "I love you too, Amon," he says, whispers it into the hollow of Amon's neck.

The undoubtedly-alive, supposedly-dead part of him writhes in agony, but he pushes it down, shrouds it with frost. Die, he says to it. He can't tell the lieutenant - he can't trust anyone with his secret - and yet it doesn't seem fair either way. Amon ruins everything he touches. Noatak destroys everyone he loves.

And so he looks at his lieutenant with gelid eyes and kisses him, because he can't find any words that will fix this mistake, and hopes that the man he is defiling can't taste the sorrow on his lips.

* * *

 _When the time comes,_ Amon states and, for once, Noatak reluctantly agrees.

 _When the time comes -_ if _it comes - we will have no choice but to get rid of him._

 **FIN**


End file.
